Snape's Cousin
by crazy-about-books
Summary: The fact is that, even though Severus would never willingly admit it and even though Sherlock would forget if the memories didn't serve him well, Sherlock and Severus are indeed cousins. And of course, fate designed it so that Potter had to be there when Holmes decided to show up, and of course he had to bring someone along. "Why else would I be here—a case!" Multiple POVs.
1. Normal is Overrated

_**A/N:**_** So, here's a little story for you all. Basic premise; I squashed the timelines somehow so that BBC Sherlock exists at the same time as Harry Potter. Sherlock and Snape are cousins. And my John may be a bit OOC. Enjoy yourself and cheer yourself with the fact that I also do not own Harry Potter and BBC Sherlock. Just like all you poor souls out there. (Unless your JK Rowling or Moffat and Gatiss, then all I have to say is, 'You wonderful and amazing person, you.' **

**Last note, there are multiple POVs in my story, and they tend to slightly overlap each other.**

* * *

It had been a normal day.

No, more than that, it had been one of the nice normal days. And Harry doesn't mean an out-doorsy nice day. Nope, the weather was rubbish. Not a singing bird or a ray of sunshine in sight. Instead it was a soggy, wet day with a wind that sought to flatten anything in its path.

The nice day began when he woke up without any echoes of Voldemort's latest tantrum thrumming through his blood. Then there was the added fact that no one seemed to be set on killing him today. Not even Umbridge, who had apparently come down with some-sort-of-illness-that-Harry-had-ignored-because-he-really-didn't-care. It might have been dragon pox or the licking flu for all he cared.

In the end, all that mattered was that the toad would be unable to teach and until they found a willing witch or wizard to take over for her, they would have a free period. (Personally Harry blamed Fred and George for the last minute sickness, just in time to give Harry a break from the toad. Thank Merlin.)

Yes, all in all, it was turning out to be one of those _good _days that were as rare as a toothless dragon.

Sadly, whatever Umbridge had didn't seem to be catching and he still had to go to Potions.

As he, Ron, and Hermione trudged downstairs, Harry found himself fiercely, desperately wishing that his luck would hold out and that he would make his way through Potions and the infuriating bat of the dungeons without incident.

Harry honestly should have known it was too much to hope for. At least he didn't get a detention.

"Potter!"

Harry looked up from inspecting his potion and his fiercely whispered conversation with Ron. The bubbling liquid inside his cauldron was supposed to be a colour that the book referred to as 'puce'. The only problem was, both Harry and Ron had no idea what colour puce was. Instead it had turned a vicious red. Sometimes, he didn't know why they tried.

"Yes, Professor?" He asked, the question coming out sharper than intended as a result of his prior conversation. The Potions Master was glaring at him from his long, and frankly ugly, nose and Harry felt a moment of relief that he had grown considerably since his first year. The amount that Snape was able to look down upon him was now remarkably smaller.

"There are some people here who actually intend to be successful," The man sneered, "it would behoove you to not deny them that privilege, even if you do not have such high aspirations for yourself. That is, if they can even manage to brew a potion properly. So please, _be quiet._"

Harry glared, the hatred that he felt for this man rising to the surface. But he gritted his teeth and replied with a reluctant, "Yes, sir."

All he had been doing was discussing the technique of this particular potion with Ron.

Alright, so perhaps they had been arguing. But it was over who was going to remove the fresh newt eyes from one of the live newts that were crawling over each other in a large tank. Snape could hardly punish him for being off-task. But no more words were spoken and Snape, with a withering glare, swept away to criticize someone else. Oh wait, that was a Slytherin. _Not criticize._ Ron watched the professor, his face pinched with dislike. Then, with a look that clearly said, '_You owe me, mate' _walked over to the open ingredients cupboard and quickly stunned and grabbed one of the brightly colored lizards out of their tank. Apparently, Ron had decided that he had lost the argument and Harry wouldn't have to dissect a lizard's face.

There was silence as the class worked; no one was willing to incur the wrath of their professor. The only sound to be heard was the sound of chopping knives and boiling cauldrons and the scattered sniffles and coughs caused by the moldy dungeons made humid by their steaming cauldrons. At least it was warmer than the upper levels of the castle. They were nearly impossible to keep warm. Even with magic.

This rare silence lasted all of five minutes, when, from somewhere beyond the potions room, there came a crash and several curses. Then there was another voice, one not swearing, this one a deep timbre that was entirely too calm. Finally, above the intelligible murmurs came a panicked, "What _was _that, Sherlock?"

Everyone was alert, their attention on the door that the voice had emerged from. The only thing to shift their attention was Snape as he strode to the door tucked into the corner of the room, his face unusually and unnaturally red. Before he managed to reach it, it slammed open, revealing a tall, dark and sharply dressed man who was in the middle of speaking.

"Come along, John." A tired sigh, "Oh, don't be like that, it's for the case! Don't worry about it; it's just a bit of magic. Ah, Severus, just the man I wanted to talk to. Tell me, is there a voodoo trick, or whatever it is that you do, that doesn't leave any sort of physical trace and can be used to murder someone?"

It was clear to the students as the stranger strode towards their professor that he knew Snape, but it looked like it wasn't a friendly acquaintanceship. It was also clear to them, as it would be to any sensible person, that anyone asking about killing spells was up to no good.

Snape's face was an uncomplimentary shade of blotched scarlet — however most would say that any color was uncomplimentary on the foul tempered man — and he seemed to be barely holding in a rage that all in Hogwarts knew tended to be explosive.

"What are you doing here, Holmes?" Snape said, the words hissing between his teeth like steam from a simmering potion.

"Don't be so dull, you surely must have heard me talking to John. And even if you are indeed as deaf as you appear, it must be obvious. Why else would I be here—a case!"

There was not a single face in the potions room that did not express shock — although some with more glee or indignation than others — at the gall of the stranger, Holmes, Snape had called him, to insult their professor like he did. Not with rebellion, or stubbornness as the bolder students had (in this case Harry), but rather as if, instead of insulting Snape, he was describing him.

Their awe continued as Snape did not retaliate, but instead pressed a different concern. One that Hermione would soon realize was a much more pressing one.

"Who came with you, Holmes?" Snape's tone had lost none of its bite.

Holmes just flapped a hand in Snape's direction, uncaring. "Don't worry, it's just my friend, John. He's completely competent, he's the last person you have to concern yourself over spilling your huge secret. Well, I say completely, but really he's just the best in a bad lot. But I trust him implicitly, so there's no need to be concerned.

"In fact I'd be willing to bet that tomorrow morning he'll just accuse me of drugging him. Such an awful habit of his, I don't know where he gets it from. I've only drugged him once, although I have some plans for an upcoming Wednesday." The erratic man appeared to notice what he was actually saying. "Er… probably best that you don't mention that last bit. Now. I have some questions about spells. Are there any-"

As if on cue, and confirming Hermione's growing suspicions, a plain, well-built man came stumbling through the same doors that Holmes had, cursing. The only coherent thing that could be made out was,

"What just happened, Sherlock?!"

And Hermione, as was her want when she finally figured out a puzzle let out a gasp. But also as was her want, she found herself unable to keep what she had figured out to herself.

"You're a muggle!"

So focused the new man must have been on his companion that it seemed he had only now realized the presence of the teens filling the room. More than just that, the bright witch's exclamation broke the spell of silence that had covered the class. Not a literal spell, fortunately. All at once each of the students began talking to and over each other, creating immediate chaos.

"A muggle? Here in Hogwarts?"

"Sherlock…Holmes? I think I've heard of him. Mum talks about him a lot. I think he's in the papers."

"What are we supposed to do? Where's Dumbledore?"

"How does Professor Snape know him?"

"Just wait until my father learns about this!"

"He dresses funny, but he's kind of cute. In a weird way."

"Merlin! Fred and George will love this!"

"SILENCE!"

The students fell silent, more because of the threatening weight of Snape's glare than because of the deafening shout.

"Holmes, for the last time, I ask you to leave. If you do not, I will forcibly remove you myself. And I assure you, I will enjoy it immensely."

* * *

Now, under no circumstances would John classify this day under the title of good. He had been woken at three in the morning by his insane flatmate insisting that they go on a road trip. "For a case." He had said. This declaration did not make for a happy John Watson. It wasn't that he didn't believe the man. Oh no, it was all too easy to believe that Sherlock would be waking him up before it was reasonable to even call it morning, no matter what the clock said, for a cold case.

Yep. A cold case.

One that the Yard had apparently shoved to the side, unsolved, years and years ago. When Sherlock had found out about it, he had been a force to be reckoned with; stealing files from the Yard and harassing Lestrade and his brother, and pacing long and hard enough to gouge an even deeper groove into the floor of the sitting room than what was there from preceding cases.

To be honest, John hadn't expected too much to come from it. Aside from a moody Sherlock that is. And no matter how awful a moody Sherlock was, such a state was all too common for John to become too concerned. That is, until he awoke to Sherlock tearing his covers from atop of him at four in the morning.

A good day, indeed.

After the unpleasant morning call, things didn't improve any. First there was the drive vaguely northwards that John had tried to sleep through. As able as he was to fall asleep in a variety of places and situations, a car was not one of them, and John would doze off only jerk awake moments later to find another position to sleep in. As to where Sherlock had gotten the car, John preferred not to speculate. And when it had become obvious that his brain had firmly decided that it was time for him to wake up and stay awake, John sat in silence. For once wishing that he had wasted some money on one of those games you could play on your mobile. Mind-numbing entertainment had actually sounded pretty good right then..

Then, when they had arrived in the village that was their destination, Sherlock came to the realization that he apparently had deleted the address, despite the obvious importance of such a detail. This realization had come several hours too late to do anything about it, much to John's annoyance. They had then loitered around a sad little park for hours with Sherlock alternately scouring his mind palace and John insisting he either ask for directions or call his brother. Of course, Sherlock refused to do either.

Finally, John, tired and grouchy, decided to call Mycroft himself. He couldn't very well ask for directions seeing as Sherlock had refused to say anything on the matter and he didn't know where to ask directions to, so the only option was Mycroft.

Predictably, it was just as Mycroft answered his mobile (John will be always grateful that he had been given Mycroft's personal number and not his office or assistant's number) that Sherlock finally figured out where to go. Embarrassed and frustrated, John apologized profusely for disrupting the elder Holmes brother's running of the government and hung up and followed Sherlock.

They were walking along a road that gave the appearance that whoever lived there was either evil or desperate. (Well, not _walking _per se, Sherlock was closer to striding, which forced John to keep up with him with the little half-run thing that made him feel remarkably ridiculous.) Now, John wasn't one to form opinions based on appearances and the people who lived here surely had their own lives and story. However, John was not above judging a road. And this road was just plain depressing.

"He should be gone, so we won't have too much trouble." Sherlock said conversationally as they turned down another road.

"What?"

"The man who lives here; he's a teacher for a school somewhere. It doesn't matter. Anyways, teacher. It's early November, so he'll be at the school. Luckily, I still remember our many conversations. We'll just go into his house and make a quick visit."

Making no sense, check. Being deliberately vague, check. Breaking into someone's house, che- wait.

"We're breaking into some guy's house? Again? Sherlock, it's way too early for this. Let's get a hotel and come back tomorrow."

"It's hardly early John, it's already eleven."

"Yes, that means I've been up for eight hours. And _that_ means that no matter how much you want to, I am too tired to go breaking into houses for the sake of a cold case."

"Oh come on John, it will be exciting! And besides, you needn't worry so much about the consequences. The house that we will be breaking into belongs to my cousin."

"Your cousin?" John was dubious, not that he entirely doubted that Sherlock was telling the truth. However, it remained that John knew very little about Sherlock's family and there was no way to know if Sherlock was just telling him what he thought John wanted to hear for the sake of the case. Alright, so he supposed that it was that he doubted the word of his friend, but in his defense, John never was in the best of tempers or the most forgiving when tired. Not to mention, Sherlock wasn't the most forthcoming or honest when it was a case on the line.

"Yes. I haven't seen him since I was a teen. Easily twenty years ago. However, I recall that he had a unique skill set that could prove to be very beneficial to my investigation. Perhaps even more investigations if all goes well."

John shot Sherlock a look, not that the man could see it and sped up his pace, forfeiting dignity for answers. "And what exactly does this cousin of yours know that you have deemed unnecessary in that mind palace of yours, but apparently has the ability to solve several cases."

Sherlock stopped his furious pace and turned to John causing John to nearly run into him. John looked up at his friend confused, taking in the mad glint that shone through his eyes and felt a bit of apprehension.

"Magic, John." And he was off again.

With a sigh, John started after the taller man, muttering, "Alright then, if you don't want to tell me…"

It was a very short while later that Sherlock stopped in front of a house. However, looking at it, John felt certain that it was the wrong house. It didn't look any more or less sad and desolate than the other buildings lining the street, but John couldn't help the nagging feeling that he shouldn't _be_ there. Surely he had forgotten something important back at the flat. Had he turned the stove off? Hadn't Sarah wanted to meet up this afternoon, he should really give her a call.

But why was Sherlock stopping? They were looking for his cousin's house and this couldn't be it. Any relation of Sherlock just had to live in a mansion of some short. At the very least not this dump.

"Sherlock? Why did you stop? It's probably further ahead."

Sherlock glanced at him. "No, this is it."

"Are you sure?" Because John _knew _that this wasn't right.

Something he'd said must have triggered something in Sherlock because the next thing John knew, the other man was beside him.

"John, look at me." He pulled his gaze away from where he was looking down the pavement to do as Sherlock asked. Once he did, Sherlock firmly placed his hands on either side of his head. "Ignore it. This _is _the right house. I know. I've been here before. Trust me okay? You do trust me, don't you?" John nodded, despite the fact that he was being very obviously manipulated. "Good. Now, ignore whatever is telling you to stay away from this house and follow me. Okay?"

John's mouth seemed to move of its own accord and, despite how his entire being wanted to go away from this house, replied, "Okay."

At that, Sherlock turned and darted up to the front door.

And John somehow found it within himself to follow.


	2. Unpleasant Journeys and Unpleasant Pasts

**A/N: So, extremely sorry! But I'm sure that you're not interested in excuses. But if you happen to be, then I'll tell you! Anywho, I disclaim any rights to this story and it hasn't been brit-picked or beta-ed. Also, I imagine that Sherlock is 2-5 years younger than Snape in this story of mine. Any questions, discrepancies or anything that catches your mind, please, please, _please, _bring to my attention.**

* * *

The room immediately through the door is dark. And while John would admit that the lack of light was hardly a remarkable deduction, he was pleased by it none-the-less. Considering the fact that just moments before he had been unable to focus on anything aside from putting the house far behind him. It's true the amount of light wasn't much of a surprise considering the fact that the owner of the house- Sherlock's cousin? - was away. But the darkness of the room went beyond that of all the lights simply being out. The walls seemed to loom in on them, covered with bookshelves as they were; pressing the air in the room tight and heavy into the middle. The books themselves were old and worn and carefully piled. However, seeing the neat piles stacked on the few tables scattered around the room, John got the feeling that when the house was actually occupied, the piles were a fair bit more haphazard. The furniture on their part leant an air of dismal dissatisfaction in that they nestled close to the ground as if to hide away. All in all, it wasn't a very comfortable place.

Sherlock took no notice of the contents of the room itself, something that surprise d John initially, but he supposed that Sherlock had already been here before and needed no extra time to track down his objectives. The man headed straight for the fireplace and began to pick up various jars sat on the mantle, looking inside and sniffing at them. Eyes flickering around, John stepped further into the room to stand at Sherlock's shoulder. The fireplace was oddly large, enormous actually. Easily tall and wide enough to fit a full grown man.

"Ha!" John glanced over at Sherlock who had a triumphant grin on his face and was in the process of lowering himself to kneel on the ground.

"Hand me a match, John. "

"You know I don't carry matches around with me."

Sherlock huffed in response and reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pack of matches. John found himself wondering if Sherlock had actually thought that John had brought matches, or if he had been under the assumption that John would know to reach into his pocket for them. To be honest, both possibilities were mildly disturbing. Sherlock then grabbed a couple logs from the pile set beside the fireplace and began to set up a fire. John watched as Sherlock wasted several matches before sighing and kneeling and taking the pack of matches from him. He took a twig and broke it up for kindling and set it under the logs. He then asked if Sherlock happened to have some paper around. He should have remembered that they were surrounded by books and that Sherlock cared little for the possessions of others. He only realized his mistake when he heard the sound of tearing.

"Here."

"Wha- no, Sherlock. I'm not burning your cousin's books."

"Oh, they're already torn out, there's nothing you can do now."

"No. And why are we building a fire anyways? Planning on warming your cousin's house for him while he's away?"

"No. I need to talk to him, and this is a way that we can do that."

John frowned, completely lost, but took the paper anyways. "I'm not going to pretend to know what you're on about. Are you planning on explaining?" Silence. John tucked the paper in with the kindling and placed a match on it, hoping the kindling would catch so that they wouldn't have to desecrate any more books. Sherlock still hadn't answered.

"Alright, I mean it's not like I have earned the right to be told what's going on. Not at all like you keeping secrets has led to some pretty big-"

"John, shut up." Sherlock's tone was, as was typical, offhand and short.

John did but only because this was a frequently worn argument, and the two sat in front of the fire, watching it build. After the fire had reached a steady rhythm, bathing the two in its light and sending heat trickling through their clothes, John spoke once more.

"Can you at least tell me your cousin's name without any of this mystery? I know that mysteries are your forte and all, but I don't really appreciate being kept in the dark so solidly." John said. He hoped that this appeal would loosen his friend's tongue.

It did.

"Severus Snape. His father was my mother's brother. Tobias was an idiot, got into trouble, made my grandmother mad, and was disinherited. He married a girl, most likely after her money because he lost all of his, and had a kid with her. Ironically, because Eileen decided to marry Uncle Tobias her family cut her off. Tobias probably would have left her, he certainly was angry and mean enough to, but he stayed. I don't know why, mummy said it was for Severus. But if that was the case, then it wasn't for any good reason; wanted to torment him most likely. Mummy felt bad that her brother was basically wiped from the family tree and insisted we go visit every so often. Fortunately, she stopped that idea soon enough. Severus and I got into too many fights, the neighbor's complained. So did Tobias."

Sherlock hadn't looked at John through his brusque explanation, instead staring steadily at the flames. In all appearance, not caring a wit about the very personal facts that he had just revealed. John for his part found himself at a loss. Sherlock's uncle sounded like an unpleasant character, and that a child had been raised in the man's house was regretful. He had no idea what it would have been like, what the man's 'tormenting' would have been made up of, but any sort of abuse towards a child is unforgivable. John opened his mouth, to say what, he wasn't sure- but Sherlock stood and dusted off his trousers, declaring-

"I think that's good enough. Severus only ever told me the theory behind this, but I shouldn't think that it will be too difficult." Sherlock opened the jar that he had set back down on the mantel and pulled out a fistful of the greenish-grey dust inside. He tossed the powder onto the flames which immediately rose and started to burn a bright, fluorescent green. Perhaps there was some copper in there, John wondered.

"What are you doing?" At John's question, Sherlock looked up and gave his characteristic 'I'm-on-a-case-and-the-culprits-aren't-complete-idiots' grin.

"_We_ are about to jump in the fire."

John only had time to give a cut off shout before Sherlock grabbed the front of John's shirt and pulled him into the fireplace and shouted, "SEVERUS SNAPE…ehrm... HOGWARTS!"

It would not be an understatement to say that a fairly large part of John was panicking. Neither would it be an understatement to say that John was not a clingy person. However, in this situation that does not stop the fact from being that John was very much clinging to his flatmate. Clinging as if Sherlock was the only thing stopping him from falling off a cliff—which, in John's mind, was not very far from the truth, just replace falling with burning, off with in, and cliff with fire.

Oddly, John was filled with the sensation of spinning and movement and everything was very much blurring together. Was this what burning to death felt like? He'd always assumed that it was a lot more painful with lots of involving screaming and writhing and agony.

What felt like simultaneously hours and yet minutes later, John was falling backwards, his hands still tightly gripping Sherlock's coat so that the other man was falling on top of him. Fortunately, Sherlock twisted just enough so that John wasn't entirely crushed beneath him.

There was hardly a moment between them landing and John's breath being shoved from his lungs before John was pushing at Sherlock fiercely and scrambling to his feet. John was panting, his hands resting on his knees, and swearing. He straitened and spun around, his eyes tracking everything he could, trying to convey to his mind that: yes, he was on safe ground again, no, he was no longer in the fire, and… no, he wasn't burnt and….

This wasn't Sherlock's cousin's house.

"What _was _that Sherlock?" Because he was pretty sure that your best friend wasn't supposed to pull you into a fire and then upon coming out, end up in an entirely different place. Sherlock himself was panting and his eyes were darting about wildly around the room, wide in some emotion that John couldn't fully identify. But if he had to place a bet, he would say that it landed somewhere between shock, amazement, and a little bit of apprehension. Sherlock visibly composed himself and began to stride for a black door. And, taking no notice of John's question—or more likely ignoring it—he opened the door.

"Come along, John. Don't be like that, it's for the case! Don't worry about it; it's just a bit of magic. Ah, Severus, just the man I wanted to talk to. Tell me, is there some kind of magic that doesn't leave a mark when used in murder?"

And there was Sherlock just pushing forward, leaving no room for John's questions and leaving him behind to his own panicking thoughts.

Now, now John was angry. Extremely so. In fact, he was just about ready to wring Sherlock's neck. Slowly, he sank back to the ground and put his head between his knees, taking deep breaths. He could hear Sherlock talking, but he paid him no mind, instead focusing on figuring the most suitable retribution and overcoming the lingering vertigo from the… fire. Was that a fire? Perhaps it was some sort of illusion. Maybe Sherlock had drugged him. Again. Really, that man should know better.

Once he got the dizziness under control, John stood and followed Sherlock, determined to get some answers. This time, he didn't pause a moment to take in the surrounding room. Only glancing quickly to find the door and go through it. The hysterical part of his mind that John was doing his best to ignore wondered if it would act as another sort of portal. And then, in the true manner of bad days, he missed the slight step down just beyond the door, a tripped into the room. What a marvelous entrance.

John just wanted to go to back to bed and forget this day had ever happened. But first-

"What just happened, Sherlock?"

* * *

If asked, Severus Snape could very easily list the things he hated most in the world, and nowhere on that list would you find the name Sherlock Holmes. That is, up till now.

Severus could still recall his aunt and her two sons who came to visit during summer holidays when he was a boy. Immediately he had hated his cousins. Their dress and manner of speech spoke of spoilt, pretentious brats who never wanted for anything. It wasn't fair, how come they got so much and he got nothing. He was dressed in a hodgepodge of clothes and they were obviously wearing very new and very expensive clothing.

Then the younger one, Sherlock started talking about Severus' dad. How he'd had lots of money too but threw it all away and now he and his mum were living in the dump that was Spinner's End and it. Wasn't. Fair.

Severus hated them even more.

When he saw how smart they were, the emotion that his young heart refused to admit as jealousy, grew stronger. Then he realized that they didn't have what he did. Magic. He actually could do something they couldn't. Their stupid little muggle money and their stupid little muggle lives. _He _was a wizard and everyone knew that wizards were better.

Thus, ignoring everything his mother had ever told him, he decided to show how much more powerful and better his skill set was. Well, he showed Sherlock. Mycroft decided that he had no interest in hanging out with the little boys and hid with Aunt Eleanor and his mum, reading a book for his entire visit.

So Severus and the youngest Holmes had spent the rest of their visit and the subsequent visits bickering and showing off. It created an odd relationship. While they each felt a certain amount of hatred for the other, they both gained satisfaction from their verbal spars. Showing off and learning from the other. Sherlock learning about the magical community, and Severus, for his part, learning to understand and mimic the power of deduction. Neither of them would be able to fully replicate the other, but each gained knowledge and enjoyment from their feud.

This ended the last time they visited. It was after Severus' first year at Hogwarts and he was feeling incredibly smug. Finally, everything seemed just right. Lily was his best friend, Hogwarts had been amazing, _potions _had been amazing, the rest of his house liked him, and Petunia it seemed was never going to bother them again. Finally.

"So this is the friend you've been hiding, Severus." A snobbish voice interrupted his and Lily's conversation.

Severus closed his eyes. Why did he have to come today?

"Go. Away." He spoke at the same time as Lily

"Who are you?" Lily was looking at his cousin fiercely, her emerald eyes as hard as… well, as hard as emeralds.

Sherlock smirked.

"Sherlock Holmes—Severus' cousin."

"I didn't know you had a cousin, Sev."

Sherlock spoke before Severus had the opportunity to answer her. Show off.

"No, I wouldn't think so. There's bad blood between us, you could say. I'm sure you know all about that, considering your relationship with your sister."

"How-?" She turned wounded eyes onto Snape. "What did you tell him?"

"Nothing!" He hastened to assure her. "It's just a thing he does. Like we can do magic, he does this weird guessing thing."

"It's not a guess. I know." Sherlock said, imperiously. And Merlin, that kid could get on Severus' nerves like nothing else.

"How?" And of course, Lily's eyes were alight with curiosity. Stupid brat. No! Not Lily. Sherlock was the stupid brat.

"Easy. The sweater you're wearing is slightly too big. New perhaps? With growing room? But no, it's too worn for that to be the case, look at the cuffs, worn where they were rubbed as a nervous tick, but not your nervous tick. You chew your lip or the inside of your cheek. You're doing it now." Severus looked over, but it seemed that she had stopped.

"Now then, that could just mean you got it from a second hand store, but everything is else is new. Why would you buy just the one thing from a second hand store when you don't need it? So handed down from an older sister. It's an ugly sweater- don't even try to deny it- but you still wear it. Sentiment, but it's not treasured. So not a deceased relative—a living one would hardly give you their cast-offs. Therefore a sister, who you feel estranged enough from, but also love- I don't know why- enough to wear their sweater. Most likely in an attempt to feel close to them. Either that or to try and buy yourself into their good books. Whatever it is, pointless. It's clear that she hates you."

"Shut. Up. Holmes." Severus took a step forward threateningly. That was sure to hurt Lily and no one was allowed to hurt Lily.

"Wh-what do you mean, she hates me?" And Severus didn't understand this question, because didn't Lily know this? She said it herself at the beginning of the school year. He didn't understand why she cared so much, family hated each other. Look at his dad and their family, Sherlock and Mycroft, their mum and his dad.

"The scrapes on your hands and knees, the stretching on the back of your sweater—it really is awful, by the way—plus the fact that I was here earlier. While walking around, I saw the way she glared at you from her window. I would just give up if I were you."

And Sherlock was on the ground with Lily standing over him. "Shut up! You- you don't know anything. Tuney loves me! She's just hurt and you- that was awful for you to say. You're just a mean little boy who likes to hurt people's feelings. Well, I won't let you."

As much as Severus was loving this moment, he really didn't want to get into trouble with his mum. "Come on, Lily. Let's go." And as they walked away he turned back and glared at his cousin, trying to convey with all the fury in his heart that if he ever hurt Lily again, Holmes would regret it. Because as of that moment, until proven otherwise, Sherlock didn't deserve his consideration. Anyone who hurt Lily was lower than the dirt.

The next day, Lily insisted on apologizing. She may have a fiery temper, but she wasn't cruel and felt extremely guilty for her actions and words. Severus then informed her that his dad and his Aunt had had a huge row and they'd had to leave early.

They never returned and Severus soon forgot his hatred in lieu of much stronger hatred for much more worthy recipients.

But now, his childhood was back to haunt him and he was _not_ happy.


	3. Arguments and Discoveries

_**AN: Here you go! There's no important information that you need to know for this chapter that I can think of. We're just about halfway through at the end of this chapter. So go ahead and enjoy!**_

* * *

Oh, yes, a school. For some reason Sherlock had forgotten that schools came with children. And this one came with teenagers. _Teenagers._ But that didn't matter; it wasn't important, wasn't relevant. Except for the fact that they were all yelling and impeding the process of the case and typically being annoying.

He opened his mouth to shut them all up, but Severus beat him to it.

"SILENCE!" His cousin's shout echoed around the stone room and everyone immediately obeyed.

It was… impressive. But then Severus promptly ruined Sherlock's grudging gratitude by speaking again.

Severus' eyes stared hard and cold at him, vaguely reminiscent of Mycroft. It was also in the quiet but threatening way he spoke. Letting anyone who was the victim of his words know that he meant every one.

"Holmes, for the last time I will ask you to leave. If you do not, I will forcibly remove you myself. And I will enjoy it immensely."

John was behind him, looking like he was debating between fainting and killing something. Most likely Sherlock. That was all well and good so long as John waited until Sherlock was able to finish his interrogation first.

"Yes, yes. I understand. I am in for a world of hurt, I've heard it all before. You are free to do whatever it is that you have an overpowering urge to do, just tell me what I want to know." Severus gave a soft snort, and Sherlock was struck by how similar and how different he was from the boy he had visited as a child. Not that he _cared,_ but it was in his job description to notice these things. Of course, he invented the job, so he was allowed to make up his own job description, but that was beside the point. The point was that Severus had changed, and so would require different methods of persuasion.

Tedious.

"I don't want anything from you. You aren't supposed to be here, you're not even supposed to know about this place, let alone tell others about it. And how-" Sherlock really wasn't interested in what Severus had to say, so he interrupted.

"Oh, don't give me that. You're the one who told me everything about the wizarding world. True, it was tedious sorting through my mind palace to find the information. And then sorting out what was important. Nothing about murdering spells- that was disappointing to be honest- but thank goodness I found the floo. Breaking into your house was interesting. You'll have to tell me what that spell was. Some sort of diversion, very clever." Sherlock said.

Yes, it was an attempt at flattering his cousin. Sometimes that worked. Although he didn't understand why. How did people find being lied to pleasant?

"For the last time. Get. Out."

Ah, flattery didn't work then.

Fine. If that was how Severus wanted to play, Sherlock would go along with it. Pity that Severus had no idea what he was dealing with. No idea how much Sherlock himself had changed since they had last seen each other.

He looked around the room, at the students sitting open-mouthed and watching them as if they were some sport. At the forgotten, oddly shaped, black pots. At John who was staring at Sherlock with hard eyes, obviously not happy, but recognizing that he wasn't going to be getting any answers, at-

Hold on. There was something in the students. Something that tugged at his mind, but which one…?

Nope.

No.

Not at all.

Sherlock hated that kid just looking at him.

Aha, there. Those eyes. Now where…?

Distantly, he noticed that Severus had raised his wand, but there was John and shouting and good old John and wand and eyes and-

"I see you didn't end up marrying her as you were convinced as a child." The words were spoken before he could stop them. Not that he wanted to. It was obvious by the stilling that Sherlock had hit a mark. He snorted. "It's really not surprising considering that you were eleven."

Severus' hand tightened around his wand, the knuckles whitening with barely restrained fury. "Holmes." And there was a warning note.

But Sherlock wasn't about to stop. He was getting there, digging. And what lay at the center was what he lived for. The point where people snapped and you saw who they really were underneath tightly wrapped manners and restraint and propriety. That was where you learned the most, and where the most mistakes were made.

"And she married someone else." It was obvious in the bone structure and the hair. "How lovely. Did you go to their wedding? I suppose not, it looks like there's a certain level of dislike held for you by her-"

"Sherlock, stop." John interrupted before Sherlock could even begin to utter the word 'offspring.'

"_What?_" Sherlock spits the words. But John is looking at Severus and Sherlock turns to look himself, but then John's eyes are there and Sherlock is caught in that firm glare.

"I have no idea what's going on here. I- I just don't know right now. But what you're doing is not okay. I don't want you to be murdered by your cousin. I have a feeling that that would put a bit of a damper on family relations somewhat. But it's looking like a pretty likely option, right now. So, I'm asking you to kindly shut up." Sherlock declines to mention that John's voice is anything but kind right now. Perhaps he should have let John sleep. But _the case._ It was too good to pass up. He doesn't feel wary about mentioning other things though.

"Listen to yourself, John! I've already told you, family relations are non-existent between our families. The Snapes and the Holmeses exist on entirely different planes, there is no relationship to 'put a damper on.' But I need to know. Think how many lives I could save if I was able to see both the magical world and the normal world. There wouldn't be these ridiculous 'impossibilities' to work around. I wouldn't have to create evidence to ensure-"

"Hold on! What?!" John was looking at Sherlock in a particular expression of fury that Sherlock hadn't seen before. "You've _planted_ evidence in order to make sure the person or people you _think_ is guilty get arrested?"

"I hardly thi-"

"No. That is just not on. You- you can't play _God_ with people's lives, alright?"

"It was just once, ages ago. And they were guilty. What was I supposed to do? Let them go free?" Sherlock asked. It _had _been ages ago, when he was still partaking of the deadly delights of cocaine. Afterwards, well, years later after he had been able to remain clean, he realized what he had been denying himself in taking the easy way out. He had never done it again, instead relishing the high of solving cases so thoroughly that all the little bit previously ignore fit together to create its own evidence.

"Can you be absolutely sure?" John pressed. "What if you were wrong and sent the wrong person to jail?"

"I wasn't!"

"But can you be su-"

"Yes." Sherlock said, firmly. He had been right, he knew he had been. If John would stop forcing the issue and just _focus_. Instead of niggling at matters that were long dead and had no need of being resurrected.

* * *

John sighed, words piling up in his mouth and settling on his tongue like heavy stones, but unable to express them. Sherlock had- _Unbelievable._ He needed to sit with a nice cup of tea and watch some telly. Perhaps the news or one of his Bond movies. Perhaps even a rare episode of Doctor Who. Anything or anywhere would be better than this. It really made no sense. None of this did. And he was feeling more like a handler than usual.

"Excuse me…" Someone said.

John turned and was surprised at the reminder that the room was full of kids. None of them appeared to be any older than seventeen. But he wasn't an expert on age. The kid who had spoken was a girl with unbelievably curly and thick hair. So much so that it could only be described as bushy. Her hand tentatively held in the air.

Neither Sherlock nor his cousin answered. John was beginning to see the similarities. It wasn't all that hard to believe that these two men could be related, they were truthfully much the same from what John could see; angry, rude, and arrogant. But then again, several people started to become like that when faced with Sherlock. As if emulating his superior attitude would somehow manage to make him see sense, when in fact it only made him surer of his natural placement above the rest of human kind.

The girl's hand was still raised, Sherlock and—John should probably refer to Sherlock's cousin something other than just _Sherlock's cousin_ now that he was in the presence of the man, Severus was it?—Severus were simply glaring at each other, a battle of how much derision one could force from their eyes. Prior to this moment, John would have bet his money on Sherlock against anyone, but at this moment Severus was right up there with him. To be honest, this had John doubting a couple facts of life.

The poor girl, while appearing mildly timid, didn't seem as if she was about to put her hand down any time soon. For a moment, John wondered why she was raising her hand, before he remembered that Sherlock had said that his cousin taught at a school. Somewhere… he searched his mind to see if he could remember if Sherlock had mentioned where the school was. Somewhere. And again, what exactly had happened? He decided to take pity on her, obviously Sherlock and Severus—did peculiar naming run in the family as well as superiority complexes?—were not about to give in any time soon.

"I don't think they're about to let up any time soon. So you might as well just say whatever is on your mind." John said.

She seemed startled at being addressed, perhaps she had realized how long it would take the two idiots to stop glaring at each other and had determined to wait it out.

"Are you a mug- I mean, you and your friend, you're both… not magic, right?" The girl asked.

This questioned entirely baffled John. What did she mean, not magic? As if there was any sort of possibility of _being_ magic. And John, as a sane member of the human race, knew that there was positively no such thing. Sure, there was the sort of mental magic of waiting for Father Christmas as a boy, but John had a feeling that this wasn't what the girl was talking about, and that caused him some slight concern.

"Of course."

The girl's eyes widened and behind her, the other children reacted as if his answer was more peculiar than her question. Several of them started to whisper in the pairs they were sitting in and the round faced boy next to her somehow managed to fall off his chair while sitting in it.

"Wait," said a red-headed boy loudly, "you mean you _are_ a Muggle?"

Muggle; he had no idea what in the world a Muggle was, but he believed that the word had been among the shouting done by the students earlier.

"Ron!" the girl turned to hiss at the boy.

"What? You said it too! If he is, he shouldn't be in here. How could he have possibly gotten in here? There are all kinds of spells and stuff, protecting –"

He stopped and glared at the dark-haired boy in glasses next to him. John assumed that his foot had been stepped on or that his side had had an unfortunate meeting with an elbow, but it was difficult to tell through the flowing black…cloaks? that they wore.

"Weasley has a point." The voice of Sherlock's cou- Severus said. As John turned to face the man, mildly grateful because he didn't really know how to handle a room full of children, he saw the redhead's jaw drop and his face pale several degrees. An odd reaction. "How _did_ you come here, and through my private quarters nonetheless? It should be impossible, especially for a Muggle."

"Clearly, you logic is flawed, cousin. If it were impossible, I would not be here. And yet, here I am. Are you enjoying being proven wrong once again? I so did enjoy doing so as a child." Sherlock replied, smug as ever.

John was, not surprisingly, still rather angry and confused. This whole event had him feeling not a little bit of an idiot, a bit like he had been dropped in the middle of a play without any knowledge of the performance or a script and everyone around him expecting him to know what to say, but then getting mad when he didn't. It wasn't a pleasant feeling. In fact, John figured that it was high time that he put his foot down. Sherlock would not be continuing this case until everything was explained clearly and in a manner that a sleep deprived, ex-army doctor could understand.

Severus started to speak, "I have not been proven wrong, you work outside the realms of a human being. In fact, you are much closer to a soulless Deme-"

And that was John's cue. He wasn't particularly interested in witnessing a battle of insults. "Alright. ENOUGH!"

The silence that filled the room was heaven sent.

"You," John pointed at Sherlock, "are going to stand there and remain silent and only speak to answer my questions, until I am done. And you," He turned to Sherlock's cousin, "if you don't mind handling your class while I deal with this idiot, and then you can have a go at him. Just don't kill him; he still needs to pay his part of the rent. And you lot," this time he addressed the classroom, "please remain quiet and listen to your professor until this mess gets sorted out." John turned again to Severus. "Sorry for any inconvenience that this has caused. Just… help us with the case and we'll leave." There, his job as Sherlock's patented apologizer was taken care of. Now to deal with the cause of this whole mess.

"Now Sherlock, for the last time, _tell me what is going on._"

Of course, Sherlock rolled his eyes.


	4. Miracles and Explanations

_**AN: So, this is probably my favorite chapter. I just had a lot of fun writing from Ron's POV and messing with John and Severus. Fun fact, this is also the longest chapter. I hope you all enjoy it, I also appreciate all and any pointers on grammar errors or characterization errors or plot discrepancies. Just tear this thing apart for me, if you want. :D (That's my way of saying that it hasn't been BETA-ed, or Brit-Picked, and that I don't care about bluntness) I do not own either of these franchises...**_

_**Also, because I have been terribly remiss, all of you lovely Anons out there (You know who you are), thank you so incredibly much! You guys are amazing and gorgeous and I wish I could thank you in person. But alas, you are an entire internet away... Anywho, I will finish this uncharacteristically long AN and let you be free to fly off to whatever world you wish. Just read this chapter first, if you please. **_

_**Enjoy!**_

* * *

Ron would, for the rest of his life, never be able to fully explain just what he had felt on this day. But at that moment, he was filled with such a giddy pleasure that he spent the rest of the day week and not-skipping at the memory. He also bragged to anyone who would listen and many who wouldn't about what he had been fortunate enough to witness on that fateful day. Thank Merlin.

First Umbridge being incurably ill (at least for now…) and now this? Ron hadn't known that it was possible for life to get this good.

When the tall man had strode in and began to insult the Snape, Ron had been awed. When the greasy bat had said that _he_, Ronald Weasley, had a point… Well, Ron was sure he was dreaming. Then the shorter Muggle started to tell everyone what to do, he told _Snape_ what to do. _And the Professor had listened._ Ron was ecstatic, then. To top it all off, after the shorter man had finished speaking, Malfoy had spoken up. Sneering that there was no way that he was going to listen to a mere Muggle and surely Professor Snape would take care of "these dirty-blooded fools." In response, Snape told Malfoy to shut his weasel mouth and to keep his opinions to himself because Malfoy had no idea what he was talking about and that he should keep his snot nose out of it.

Okay, perhaps not in those exact words, but still.

So now the room was sitting quietly for the first time since the men had appeared, watching and waiting to see what the shorter man would do next. (Ron wished that he knew the man's name, but he hadn't paid too much attention that part of things—just the fact that they had appeared from behind Snape's desk, and wasn't just that somehow something worthy of getting murdered by Snape?)

After the snapping at Malfoy (and Ron was being serious here, was it Christmas?) Snape had leveled the class with a hard glare, daring any of them to make a noise. No one took him up on it. The tall man was standing with his hands deep in the pockets of his Muggle coat, his face both sullen and bored.

"I think it is fairly obvious what is going on, John." John. Now all Ron had to do was try and remember that. It shouldn't be too hard though.

"Not to me." John had his back to them, but he sounded a bit like Hermione when she was trying to get him and Harry to listen while she talked and talked about some famous wizard or event or something and honestly, why would he know any of that stuff?

"You know my methods…"

"No. I am not doing this again. Not now. I know what you're doing, and you're not going to get out of it. Now, explain."

"What do you think happened!?" Ron couldn't help but understand why the short- John was so frustrated all the time. If Ron was in John's place, he's fairly sure that he would have Avada Kedavra-ed him by now. And if not that, at the very least socked him in the face.

"The entire point of this conversation is for me to figure that out. Will you please listen to me, Sherlock?"

Sherlock, right. Ron added that name to the things that he needed to try and remember.

Ron glanced over at Snape; he was leaning against his desk, his hands pressed against his temples. Wow. Ron had never known anyone to give the professor a headache…

Feeling that it was probably safe, Ron kicked his feet up onto the potion table. The cauldron wobbled dangerously and Harry's hands shot out as if to steady it. Ron was quite glad that he hadn't because the cauldron was definitely not cool to the touch and Ron really didn't want Harry to burn his hands after being so cheerful today. When the cauldron steadied, Harry shot Ron a glare and he gave a little shrug, the corner of his mouth pulling down in an apology before tilting back up.

"Fine. Since the ability is clearly beyond you. I will explain, but do not speak until I have finished. I would rather not delay returning to London to show Lestrade a solved cold case." Sherlock raised an eyebrow.

"Right. Go on then." John replied to the unasked question.

"I told you that Severus and I were forced to endure each other's company as children. I had fully intended to leave him and wander about on my own, and unwind the habits and lives of all who lived on that street," Merlin, what was the guy talking about? "Except from the moment I stood in front of that house, stepped inside, saw Severus, I knew that there was a much more satisfying mystery in my cousin. We both found each other practically unbearable except we struck up a deal of sorts. He would teach me the world of Magic that was his, and I would give him insights into deducing others and finding the perfect defenses against the banality that surrounded us. It worked out because he lacked the intelligence to become even slightly adept at the skill and I was without the genetics to perform any kind of supernatural occurrence." Sherlock's voice was hard and factual.

Up until then, Ron had been staring fascinated at the man who had before seemed merely manic, but now seemed completely cold. Ron was sure that Sherlock would have easily continued in the same manner, but Snape took that opportunity to interrupt.

"While I'm sure that your companion appreciates your penchant for dramatics, Holmes, I must insist that you speed things up. You have taken up an entire class period and wasted my, as well as my students', time." Ron disagreed entirely, but he didn't dare say so. "And Mister Weasley, do not think that today is such that I will decide that rules do not matter. Remove your feet from the table in front of you, I am sure that your mother was not too busy to teach you basic manners. Or were you raised among a hoard of grindylows?" Snape said the last softly, and but with a disdain that Ron flushing scarlet and holding back an urge to leap at the man, but he removed his feet non-the-less.

"Shut up, Severus. John already said that you weren't to interrupt and I wouldn't recommend getting on his bad side, not that he can really do anything." Ron didn't think shorter man seemed to be the type unable to 'do anything'. "But he gets into an awful strop and runs off. It can be terribly inconvenient. Although, I do think he brought his gun; that could be interesting. You said modern technology doesn't work here, but does that count for guns? Sure, you said radios wouldn't work—I supposed that would wind up to mobiles as well—but that is all about electricity. John's service gun doesn't run on electricity, so there's no reason it shouldn't work."

"Sherlock-" John said, but was quickly interrupted.

"You brought a gun into a school!?" And there was Hermione sounding quite scandalized. Her eyes were wide and she had an expression as if she had been deeply offended.

"I didn't know I would be coming to a school-" John started, but was again interrupted, but by Snape this time.

"You haven't changed at all since I saw you last, Holmes." Snape sneered. "Still believe yourself to be an entitled know-it-all. Spoilt and better than everyone else."

"Of course, I'm better." Sherlock said. "Everyone knows it, even if they seem to ignore that they know it."

"Alright. Enough! Enough with the procrastinating and interruptions and verbal peacock contest. Sherlock, start when we entered your cousin's house and go from there."

"Magic, John! It was magic. Honestly, how can you not _see_ that? We go to my cousin's house, start a fire which turns green and leap into the flames. By all accounts, we should be at least burned. But we're not.

"Maybe we-" Sherlock continued, talking over John, gesticulating wildly with his hands.

"Instead, we are here. In a classroom that looks like it could very well be bigger than my cousin's whole house. Look at the students! Look at what they are wearing! And those pots. When are there ever pots like these? I may not cook, John, but I do know that this isn't normal. And that's saying something when it is commonly agreed knowledge that I am about as far from normal as it is possible to get. So, please tell me. What in your little brain refuses to see that we are no longer where we began? The only plausible conclusion is that there was some magic involved." Sherlock was staring right at John. His hands were now at his side, fingers flexing.

"Would you listen to yourself, Sherlock?" There was a high not of panic in John's voice and Ron was hit with the impossible idea that some could really and truly believe that magic didn't exist. "Magic?! Plausible? I thought you were a man of science. There is no science in magic. It is an impossibility. A fairy tale for children to believe in."

"No, John. Not a man of science, I explore the random instances that occur in common everyday life to discover how they interconnect with the rest of the world. And these random instances help me to solve murders. What could be more random, more a part of everyday life, more _natural_ than the magic that is hidden from the casual observer. Think!"

Never before in his life had Ron been a witness to such an impassioned force as this man. Well, perhaps Harry when talking about You-Know-Who and trying to be a part of the order. But somehow, this Sherlock bloke had shifted something in the air so that it was impossible to look anywhere else. To be _aware_ of anything else seemed unnatural in the tide of the man's words.

"I am thinking," John said, his voice steadier, but still with a reedy thread in it, "but it just doesn't make sense. How in the world could magic be called natural?"

"Imagine for a moment, that magic has existed forever. And imagine if this were the case, then magic would be just as natural—if more rare—as the skin on our back. And then the fabled witches from the witch trials and magic users find methods of protection. Think! Everywhere there could be hints of magic and us humans ignorant of it. And if I could just tap into it, I could figure out and see so much more of what is beyond me. Imagine it, John. Imagine; knowing this could help me catch so many more murderers and faster. You could save so many more lives and help people who before would have been beyond our help, for the mere detail that we didn't know all the facts. Tell me John, tell me that that isn't correct." Sherlock finally slowed in his speech, his gaze so intense that Ron was surprised that John hadn't burst into flames right then.

"The question," John stated slowly, "Isn't whether or not this knowledge is right or not. The question is that magic is impossible. It's not even a question. It's a fact. I don't know what is going on-"

"As you have continually stated several times before." Sherlock muttered scathingly.

"Yes, well, I don't know what's going on, but I…" John seemed to give in trying to talk to Sherlock, giving a half-hearted gesture he continued, "Just finish up here quickly so that I can wake up."

"Finally."

* * *

John looked like he didn't know what to do with himself now that he was done lecturing Sherlock. Or failing to. Fortunately for him, Sherlock knew just what he should do. Gripping his friend's shoulders, Sherlock steered John backwards towards an empty seat.

"Sherlock, what-"

He really did look quite out of it. It would probably be best in the end if John thought he had been drugged. That way things would eventually die down and John would most likely be happier not knowing about a secret sect of people living in the world. Yes, dear, simple John. That would probably be best. Sherlock pushed down on John's shoulders and John complied, sitting.

"Seriously, I don't-"

"Hush, John. I'm thinking." And now, it was time to get down to the whole point of their coming here. Hopefully, Severus would be able to withstand the urge to delay the inevitable.

"What is the great Sherlock Holmes concocting now?" Severus sneered.

Ah, it looked like that was too much to hope for. Really, he was getting quite tired of all this nonsense. Beginning to regret trying to talk to his cousin at all (although not enough to _leave_), Sherlock turned his back on John and looked at Severus.

"What I am 'concocting', Severus, is how I am going to get you to answer my questions without you being too tedious. However, I highly doubt that you will be cooperative, as frustratingly thick-headed as you tend to be when you dislike someone. I'm sure that many of your students and colleagues would attest to this fact." His cousin's face pinched and lips thinned at these words.

"Alright, cousin." Severus sneered. He turned to face his students. "Class dismissed." No one moved. Somehow, these magic kids were just as moronic as typical teenagers. Wonderful. There go his hopes for a select few members of the next generation. "I said," Severus started, his voice taking on a dangerous growl. "Get. Out." There was a hurried scraping of chairs and scramble of feet in their efforts to remove themselves from the livid man. "Do not think" Severus called after them, the baritone of his voice rumbling threateningly after them "that this means you have gotten out of a class work today. Before next class, each of you will write an essay concerning how the ingredients and their properties react to result in the befuddlement draught."

There was a chorus of groans and unfortunately for one of the students, one was especially loud, followed by a clear, "Stupid, greasy git."

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter, for you continued disrespect for your professors."

"Harry!" The bushy haired girl gave the boy, Harry Potter supposedly, a smack to the shoulder. And then the children were out of sight. Thank goodness, Sherlock thought, now they could get down to business without insipid brains, insistent upon not thinking, gawking at them.

"So, what is it you want?" Severus said.

"I already told you."

"Yes, but you should know, it's not that easy. I could get into a lot of trouble for this. Trouble that I know you're not worth."

"That didn't seem to stop you before." Sherlock snipped.

"Precisely, Holmes. Before. Before when I was a child and the ministry wasn't cruel enough to send children to Azkaban. A lot has changed since then. Go home, forget everything I told you. You're mere presence here has already cost me dearly, I'm sure. I'd rather not be in trouble on two fronts."

"Ah, so you did it."

Severus eyes narrowed immediately in reaction to these words. Sherlock could see John watching from where he was sitting, but thankfully seemed cognizant enough not to interrupt.

"What do you mean?"

"You know exactly what I mean, Severus. Those stories you would tell me, about a dark wizard. I'm afraid that your behavior didn't really seem on the same page as your words. You attested to their crimes, stated that everyone was of the opinion that such people deserved to go to jail. And that is exactly what I mean, you said that _everyone_—not you—thought they were awful. True, you never denied what they did, but you admired them. You were sick of your father, sick of me, sick and resentful of every normal person you came in contact with. And these so-called 'dark wizards' could help you."

"What are you talking about, Sherlock?" John said from where he was sitting, sounding nervous. But Sherlock knew that when John sounded nervous, it meant that he was willing to do something stupid if he thought it might be required. It also meant that his adrenaline was about to kick in and then the real fun began.

"The Hitler of magic."

"So, you know about Hitler, but not the Prime Minister or the Queen."

"Of course! One of the largest mass murderers in history, you never know when someone might pick up on his ideas and when they do—because someone will, it's so hard to come across an original murder lately—, I'll be the one the police come to. I need to know about him in order to do so though."

"Of course, how could I have been so blind?" The sarcasm was heavy in John's voice, but Sherlock chose to ignore it.

"I've no idea. But back to you, Severus. Tell me, did you join them after your friend left you or did she leave you because you joined them." Sherlock observed as Severus' face closed off. "Ah, touchy subject, I see. However, I have to ask: when did you change your mind?" Because it was clear as day that he didn't hold to such notions any more. Oh, he definitely couldn't stand Sherlock, and Sherlock was under no illusions that Severus would think it noble to forgive his father. That much could be said for Severus, he didn't cater to the world's romanticized ideals. However, despite these feelings, there was none of the posturing that a spy would commit himself to, nor was there the hatred for those unlike himself that oozed from the pores of those who viewed themselves naturally better than everyone else. (Sherlock didn't count, he wasn't naturally better, physically, but he _was_ mentally superior. No one could argue with that.)

"I don't know what you're talking about." The reply was sharp and predictably predictable. Boring.

"No. No, don't do that. I'm smarter than I was as a child, Severus, you won't be fooling me. Very few people have ever managed, and you're not one of them, not now."

"You aren't here just to taunt me, Holmes." Severus' beak nose curled up in a sneer, pulling his lip with it.

"Regrettably, no." Really it was a bit regrettable. It had been such fun as a child. "I am currently investigating a murder which occurred several years ago. The victim, by all accounts, should not be dead. There are no traces of poisons, disease, or wounds or injuries that would result in death. But dead she is. Of course the police were baffled and came up with nothing. The case remained unsolved. Recently, though, it came to my attention and I simply couldn't resist. I might not live in the same world as your kind, Severus, but I do recognize where their hands might have reached if given the appropriate signs. And these signs pointed directly here. I need information on what killed her, knowledge of who of the victim's acquaintances or connections might lead to the supernatural, anything that might lead to motive."

"What are you, some sort of law enforcement officer? I never took you as one who would place themselves under the thumb of the government."

"And you would be correct. I'm self-employed—a consulting detective."

"The only one in the world, or so he says." Said John, tiredly.

"Yes, thank you, John." Sherlock replied, hardly aware that he was doing so. No, right now what was important was that Severus seemed to be cooperating and Sherlock had to get as much out of that as possible. While it lasted. "Ignore him. Just tell me how a murder such as this might be possible."

Severus leaned back against his desk, contemplating on how he should answer his cousin, his arms folded in front of him. He was the picture of scorn.

"Magic such as was used in this case," he began, "is very much distasteful. Getting into the room however would be a simple matter. A simple unlocking spell would be more than enough to conquer any lock used in a Muggle home. However, the spell, if it was a spell at all, would have to have been the killing curse."

"Not a spell? What could it have been then?"

"A potion, perhaps." Snape replied. "There are several lethal potions that are untraceable using Muggle methods and are only detectable through magical means."

"So, do you have pointy hats and a black cat as well?" Sherlock must have deleted the idea of potions, because he could hardly believe that Severus was practically admitting to all of the beliefs that surrounded the legends of witches.

"Do you want me to answer your questions, or not?"

"Of course, sorry for interrupting." Sherlock replied, not sorry at all.

"But you say that this occurred several years ago?" Severus frowned, a two furrows appearing on either side of his nose between his eyebrows.

"Seventeen." Sherlock confirmed.

"In a Muggle neighborhood, in that time frame, I would guess the victim to either be a first generation half-blood or a full blooded wizard with Muggle sympathies." Severus was still frowning, a troubled look seeping into his eyes.

Sherlock straitened at this. There was a story here, and one that could potentially provide some important clues. Hmm... Perhaps he should branch out, see if he could get some cases from the magical community as well. That would definitely lighten the lull between cases. Cut the boredom down exponentially. Yes, this was sounding better and better. But the history here, that needed to be divulged.

"Why?" Sherlock pressed, eagerness hanging on every word he spoke. "What was the situation like seventeen years ago that would create a profile such as this? And do you all really persecute based off of blood lines. Your lot really does appear more and more old-fashioned every moment I spend with you."

"You really don't hold back anything, do you, Holmes?" The potion professor bit out towards his cousin. "I suppose that it's not so surprising that you have the restraint of a child."

"Yes, yes. I've been called such before. Infantile, immature, and any other variation. Just tell me what happened."

Sherlock could see Severus fortifying himself, and felt the glee of a truly interesting case fill him. Oh! If only all family reunions were like this, then perhaps Mycroft wouldn't have to attempt and bribe him to come.

"That was when the Dark Lord was at his most powerful. He was killing hundreds of witches and wizards. Trying recruiting those who shared his belief of pure-blood superiority, and killing those who would oppose him. And when they were bored, they would kill Muggles for sport."

"And you were on his side." It wasn't a question that Sherlock was asking. But rather, he needed to see if Severus was willing to admit it, then perhaps Sherlock could get some inside information. How to set up an exchange though... Sherlock had a feeling that Severus wasn't one to be bought.

The silence that followed after this question was... tense, and Sherlock wondered what exactly was going on in his cousin's mind.


	5. Breaking Points and Dumbledore

_**AN:**** Hello everyone! This is the second to last chapter, although the next one is more of an epilogue... Anyways, own neither Sherlock or Harry Potter. If you notice anything wrong, please tell me. And that includes this being unbearably American. I hope you enjoy Sherlock getting what is coming to him. I'll let you go and read to your heart's content. Au revoir! **_

* * *

"And you were on his side." Holmes stated, bluntly.

Severus couldn't believe his cousin. Years and years he had just gone on his way. There was no contact between them, no thought spared. At least, no thought spared on Severus' end and he highly doubted that the two Holmes boys had cared or hated him enough to think about him since they parted ways. And yet, with all this separation, Sherlock still managed to wedge his way under his skin. Make his blood boil in ways all too similar to the Potter charm. He hated that he continued to be so predictable to the man.

"I do not see how my past is relevant to your rather unique investigation." Severus replied, firmly. Holmes had no right, digging into his past.

"Yes, then. Else you would have just denied it, but instead you avoided. You could have denied it anyways, I suppose. But you didn't. Very shoddy spy work, Severus. Are you sure you are in the right line of business?" Sherlock asked. His voice imperious and condescending.

And that was it. Severus didn't need to answer to the likes of his cousin. He knew his own mistakes thank you very much, he didn't need Holmes laying them out before him like Trelawney's insipid cards. He already had Albus for that.

Holmes had come here, seeking information on the Wizarding World, had he? Well if he had expected to learn anything, then Holmes had come to the wrong man, and had said the wrong things. There was only so much humiliation and insults that a man could bear. Holmes had found his limit and unlike perhaps many people in the world, he had a power over Holmes' head. Not just the power that came from the end of the wand, but also the fact that he could hold this knowledge over Holmes' head and take it away. All within the limits of the law of course. It was time to give his charming cousin exactly what he came for.

* * *

John might be more confused than he had ever been in his life and he might be fairly concerned for Sherlock's sanity, but he wasn't so bewildered or preoccupied as to completely ignore the look that was on Sherlock's cousin's face.

Through his partnership with Sherlock, John had become well acquainted with that look. It was the look that Sherlock's victims of deduction took on before they decided that Sherlock's face was in need of redecoration. Finally feeling useful, John stood ready to try and take things back a bit.

Neither Sherlock nor Severus paid him any mind, both too intent upon the other.

"The Killing Curse has the ability to simply stop the body." Severus began, shocking John. His voice and expression were now steady and emotionless. "The heart stops beating, the lungs cease to function and the blood freezes in the veins. That is the most likely scenario, based on what you have told me. Whoever was killed likely made either the Dark Lord or his followers very unhappy. The killer definitely would have not been considered to be on the light side of things as the general populace finds such an absolute power over life distasteful."

And John knew why, the very idea that any one person could kill someone instantly from a touch of a button as it were… From the sound of it, as a doctor there would be nothing he could do. Not even a vain effort. A…spell. And then that person was dead. The end. He sincerely wished that this was some sort of hallucination or dream. That there was nothing in the world that could do such a thing. It didn't commute in his mind. As a soldier people died due to injuries burns or bullet holes or infections. As a doctor people died from illnesses, tumors, cancers, fever. Death was physical and always had a cause; for there to be nothing, no reason— It was wrong.

"It appears that I won't be able to go about investigating through my normal routes. I'm sure the Yard doesn't have the resources I need." Sherlock began to pace.

John watched him, still feeling a left over unease from the prior topic and the look that had crossed Severus' face. Sherlock struck an imposing figure in medieval backdrop as he turned about. With his long, almost-black belstaff coat swishing out behind him, and his dark suit, he almost appeared to fit. It was all too easy to imagine Sherlock a cunning sorcerer, in the midst of some great puzzle. Perhaps working out a new conjuration or spell, perhaps plotting nefarious potions.

But Sherlock wasn't a wizard or sorcerer or any such nonsense. And this was apparently of some concern to him as he soon stopped and abruptly turned to face his cousin again.

"I can't get the information I need. If anything you told me about magic and non-magic relations is true. But I _need _some if I am to figure what happened. Tell me, Severus, would you be willing to break into your ministries' records?" Sherlock asked.

At Sherlock's question, two things happened at once. The door that the students had fled through opened, and Severus started to reach inside his cloak. John was immediately aware of the threat coming from two sides, and quickly decided that Severus was the more immediate concern and started for him while reaching for the gun tucked into his waistband. He didn't have time to see what the other man was holding but he did have time to hear the word 'stupefy' and see a ball of red light head straight at him. If he'd had time for a coherent thought before he fell unconscious, it would have been,

"_Sherlock, you idiot."_

He did not.

* * *

The events that occurred after Professor Snape had kicked them out of class might have been considered exhilarating by some. But after time traveling, running from werewolves, dating an international quidditch star, nearly being killed by a troll, standards for a proper adventure are set. And while exhaustion and curiosity _were_ present in no small amounts, getting Dumbledore involved was definitely tame by comparison to any logical mind.

Hermione's mind was definitely logical.

If it had been up to Ron and Harry, Professor Snape would have been left to deal with the man whom Snape obviously despised. But fortunately Hermione was able to convince them that having a Muggle inside Hogwarts was bad. Colossally bad. And so, the three of them ran to Dumbledore's office. Up the stairs out of the dungeon, across the entrance of the great hall to the staircases up another flight, across the corridor to the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's tower. They had then stood there for a good several minutes shouting out the names of sweets, repeating several. When 'licorice wand' worked it was a bit of a surprise, because that didn't really seem the type of sweet Dumbledore had previously preferred. But up the spiral staircase they ran, aided by the fact that it was already moving.

And so, panting, here they were outside of the Headmaster's office. Hermione raised her hand to knock, fully expecting Dumbledore to invite them in before she even managed to put her hand to the door. But it was only the polite thing to do.

"Come in." Came the expected invitation

Hermione pulled back her hand and instead reached for the doorknob. The three of them stepped into the office and, as usual, Professor Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his hands clasped. At their winded appearance, a white eyebrow rose.

"Is everything all right? Aren't you three supposed to be in Professor Snape's class?"

"No, sir. Yes, sir." Ron's answered through his panting.

Dumbledore stood, his hands pressing flat against his desk.

"Please clarify, Mr. Weasley."

"Sir, there's- there are people in the potions room."

"Muggles, Professor." Hermione supplied in addition.

"One of them was talking about a murder." Harry added.

"I see." And apparently he did, because he immediately swept out from behind his desk. "Thank you for alerting me, now come, I do not wish to leave you alone in my office."

And without another word, but with a kind smile, he led the way back down to the corridor.

Once there, the Headmaster strode off, leaving the trio behind.

The short conversation that followed, involved some of these points.

While Professor Dumbledore never said a word about them accompanying him as he traversed down to the dungeons, he also didn't say anything about staying behind while he dealt with potentially dangerous men.

Because even though they were Muggles and what harm they could possibly do in Hogwarts wasn't much, one of them was apparently carrying a gun. (The Muggle equivalent of the killing curse, but a lot more painful and a less likely to result in death. "They have such a thing? I thought Muggles were a bit daft. OW! What was that for?!)

Besides, if Dumbledore needs help, we'd be there. And if not magical help, then at least we'd be witnesses. In case the ministry gets involved. (I hope not. If I ever see them again, it'll be too soon.)

Just to be clear:

Hermione thought that if Dumbledore had wanted their assistance, he'd have indicated in some way or manner. And two adult wizards were more than a match for two Muggles, no matter how clever of armed they were.

Ron thought that the idea that the Muggles could actually pose a threat more than a little ridiculous, so there was no reason waste time that they could be talking about Quidditch. However, he had been proven wrong before and there were worse things to be proven wrong over. (You-Know-Who for instance—like the Ministry of Magic had been, _idiots_.)

Harry was just sick of being let out of everything remotely relevant and this obviously wasn't too dangerous. He highly doubted that it even reached the level of danger of falling off his broom in third year, or the troll in first.

And so, with two out of three against, but with Ron wavering, Harry won. The odds might not have indicated that Harry would be triumphant, but Hermione had learned very well over the years that her friend was stubborn. And even if the whole world was against something dangerous that he was about to do, he would still do it if he felt that it was the right thing to do.

It was going to lead somewhere bad, someday.

But that was that someday wasn't now. So they followed, running to catch up with Dumbledore.

When they did, their slowing feet slapping heavily on the stone ground, the Headmaster was just descending the stairs that lead to the dungeons. The frown on his face as he saw that they have followed him was expected.

"I would expect you three to have homework."

"We do, sir." Harry said. "But we thought- just in case you needed someone to help…or we could also get reinforcements if needed."

Hermione knew that Harry would never get someone else if he thought that Professor Dumbledore needed assistance. But she also knew that Harry was saying what he felt needed to be said in order to not get sent away.

At Harry's words, Dumbledore's eyes twinkled and a small smile tugged on his lips.

"Of course, in that case I would welcome your presence. Although, I do not expect that you will need to do much. The situation is not so much dangerous as delicate. Actually, if my suspicions are correct, this will make for an amusing tale. However, it will be one to tell another time."

"Sir?" Ron asked.

"Ah, here we are." Professor Dumbledore said, leaving Ron's question unanswered as they approached the almost abandoned classroom.

Hermione felt a tendril of apprehension that was closer to an unbearable curiosity and soon gave way to a thrill of anticipation. As much as it dismayed her at times, she was unable to deny that when push came to shove, it was times like these that she realized that it was now or never. She would never say that she _enjoyed _the danger that she and Harry and Ron constantly faced, no not hardly. But she had learned to live with it and to function and realize that when your life was on the line, you didn't want to be going about immobile with fear. It was before and after the fact that fear would strike and fill her with an uncomfortable pressure that pushed against her skin and lungs. However, she never was able to suppress it entirely and it always lurked beneath the clarity and focus of her adrenaline filled mind.

Now though, with Dumbledore's reassurances, the fear didn't linger nearly so much and she was much more able to feel the curiosity that abounded. What had occurred after Professor Snape had thrown them out? What would they find behind the door?

Professor Dumbledore opened the door and promptly a commotion from inside the room could be heard. The headmaster's tall frame and elaborate robes blocked most of the view, but a shout of '_stupefy' _could be heard followed by the thump-_crack_ of a body and skull meeting with the stonework of the floor. The sound of the falling body dampened the sound of the spell being repeated and another body followed suit.

"Oh dear…" said Dumbledore.

Hermione, along with Harry and Ron, peered around their Headmaster and looked into the room. There was Professor Snape, his face a cold mask. He was turning towards the door, his cold mask melting into a fierce scowl. On the floor she could also see the upper half of the shorter man's body, stretched out towards Professor Snape and, presumably, the legs of Sherlock Holmes.

In Hermione's opinion, those quiet words had quite accurately understated the situation.

"Albus?" Professor Snape asked. Although, precisely what the question was, Hermione wasn't certain.

Dumbledore stepped into the room and the other three trailed behind him.

"These three alerted me to the fact that there was a situation. I came as quickly as I could."

"Yes, well, it appears that my cousin and his compatriot are quite the adepts at arousing trouble wherever they go."

"So, I've heard." Dumbledore's tone was pensive.

"Sir?" Professor Snape questioned.

Dumbledore waved his hand airily. "Nothing of importance, Severus." The headmaster said. "Your cousin? This man is related to you?"

The potion masters lips curled into a sneer. His eyes darted to the three students standing quietly, taking in all that was being said. His reply was curt. "Yes."

"Well, I suppose that things are under the control for the moment." He turned towards the focus of Snape's consternation. "You three are excused. Professor Snape and I will deal with these two. I'm afraid that the only things that need to be dealt with are paper work and a call to Madame Pomfrey would not go amiss. Nothing particularly interesting."

"But Professor-" Harry started.

"The headmaster has told you to make your way. I suggest you listen."

And even Hermione is not so taken with authority to believe that Professor Snape is innocent in his and Harry's eternal dispute. But neither is she so hard headed to ignore the fact that Harry's rows with the Potions Master never resulted in pleasantries. Although she recognizes why Harry so adamantly defends himself and others, and even though she admires him for that, she always found it her instincts to obey authority. And she had found her life easier for it. These past years, though, have resulted in her being able to recognize her strength to stand up when she saw that authority figures were being unreasonable. Whereas before she had only the strength to meekly nod.

However, this was _not_ one of those times and so she nudged at Harry's shoulder and tried to convey that this was not worth it. His stubborn pride was only going to get them all into trouble.

He ignored her warning look and started to open his mouth. Aware of what this could very well lead to, Hermione quickly intervened.

"Harry, you _really_ don't need another detention." She quietly told him," Let's just go, there's nothing going on. Besides, Professor Flitwick said that chapter twenty is really complicated. I would like to look over it before he starts to cover the material. You really should too." She shot Ron a hard look that he, fortunately for him, immediately interpreted.

"Yeah, mate. Let's go." Hermione mentally rolled her eyes at the fact that Ron sounded as if he found the idea to be just as pleasant running up the stairs to the astronomy tower.

But Harry acquiesced.

As the door shut behind them Ron swung his arm around Harry and said, "Hey, let's go to the kitchens. I'm sure that the house elves wouldn't mind giving us a bit of a snack before dinner. I'm starving."

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione interjected. "Don't you want to do well, at all?"

"I do all right. I may not be top, but it's not like I'm not going to get through school all right."

As Hermione retorted, she noticed that Harry wasn't paying attention to them at all. Instead, he was watching his shoes and while they walked she half heard him murmur with a tired sigh in his voice,

"And today was such a good day, too."


	6. Mycroft is Annoyed by Sherlock's Antics

_**AN:**** Well, here you all are, the final chapter. But it's more of an epilogue, really. There is very little to say, except that I do not own Harry Potter or Sherlock. I also wish to bid you all adieu until next time, and as this is my final chapter, any comments or critiques would be most welcome. Farewell and enjoy.**_

* * *

When Mycroft walked into his office to begin his day, he was met by the surprise of an envelope just sitting, apparently innocuous, on his desk. He was certain that it had not been there the night before when he left. His office had been immaculate as always, despite the hassle of trying to locate his brother. John's call in the afternoon had been an unusual addition to his day. While the content of the call had not been alarming, where his brother was located was. The chip installed into John's phone has reported that the two were far from London. Seeing where they were, Mycroft feared the worst. Nothing good could come from Sherlock being near Spinner's End.

Nothing had turned up since yesterday, a fact that caused no little amount of internal and well masked anxiety. But this letter…

His assistant hadn't mentioned anything of importance waiting for him, a fact which only added to Mycroft's suspicions. Moving to sit down he lifted it and paused as he saw the address line. The… very specific address. He gave a sigh and opened the envelope. He had an inkling that he knew what this was about.

He unfolded the letter and started to read.

_Mr. Holmes,_

_I believe that you would be interested in the fact that your brother has found his way into the magical community. Rest assured, your brother has not "accidentally" found his way into the lower levels of Gringotts again and there is no need for you to send more peace offerings to the goblins._

_Rather, he and his companion broke into the house of one of my teachers, traveled by floo to Hogwarts, and then harassed my potions master. I believe you are acquainted with Severus Snape, cousins if I heard correctly. While I admit that they are entertaining, the Ministry of Magic has found your brother's frequent forays to be overzealous and will not be abide them any longer_

_Were this the first such occurrence, it may have been forgivable. Had your brother's repeated excursions been harmless, ever, the Ministry might have been willing to overlook your brother's actions. Alas, fortune is not so kind, and your brother not so innocent. Among the many incidents are: a brawl in the Leaky Cauldron, a quite dangerous and bodily transforming stunt in Knockturn Alley, and the offending of many respectable persons and shop owners. He has also caused the severing of some friendships and marriages. (Granted, I believe that if the people in these cases could be swayed by him, their relationships were doomed from the start.) Fortunately, the Prime Minister and Head of Magical Law Enforcement are willing to concede that he has also facilitated in many arrests._

_However it is my duty to inform you that should Sherlock Holmes and John Watson discover the magical secret once more, drastic measures shall be taken. A man's mind can only be obliviated so many times before permanent damage occurs. _

_Now that I have gotten these little technicalities out of the way, let me express my disappointment in the fact that I have as yet been unable to speak personally to your brother. He and Doctor Watson seem like quite the remarkable pair._

_ Sincerely Yours,_

_ Albus Wulfric Percival Brian Dumbledore_

_P.S. Your brother and John Watson have been safely returned to their lodgings in Baker Street._

Mycroft set the letter down on his ornate, oak wood desk. The phrase "_quite the remarkable pair" _echoing in his mind. That was one way of putting it.

'_Oh, Sherlock_.' He thought. _'You were never able to resist making my life difficult.'_


End file.
